


Blood Ties

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-24 16:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9771137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: An elf finds herself unexpectedly invited on a journey though not all welcome her.





	1. Chapter 1

Olynna stood before the small round door, her eyes fixed upon the thick wood. The prospect of hunching through it seemed uncomfortable on its own, but what awaited her within was more so. Dwarves. She knew they were not fond of her kind and she had faced dwarven resent many a time before despite the fact she was not of the city which had offended their race. She sighed an elongated breath and bit her lip, making no move to knock.

She had promised the wizard her aid in the unexpected quest to the Mountain but she figured she would be little missed by the others if she walked away. She could not bring herself to step away however for she had never in her life broken a vow or fled a fight. Thus, she poised her hand and braced herself to knock and disturb the din within but her resolve was stunted by a deep voice suddenly sounding behind her.

“You must be lost,” She turned slowly as the dark tone drew her around. A thickly maned dwarf stood with arms crossed and brow lowered, “For surely an elf has no business here.”

She eyed him dully, knowing already that this was only a taste of what she would meet inside.

The dwarf’s long black haired was twined with silver strands along his hairline and a short beard to match. His eyes were so blue that even in the dark, they seemed to sparkle. Though at that moment, in would be more appropriate to describe them as blazing. His nose was aquiline but thick and his features as coarse as any dwarf.

“I have business here, the same as you,” She stated evenly, “I’ve been invited. Same as you.”

“Same as me?” He narrowed his eyes venomously, “That I would never say. No dwarf would allow himself to be compared to an elf. Not even the lowest scoundrel of our race.”

“I don’t need your approval of my words or presence,” Olynna turned back to the door, her blue-black hair sweeping behind her dismissively, “Only the wizard’s.”

Hmmp, the wizard,” He grumbled as she lifted her hand again but found herself off-balance as he shoved roughly past her and rapped harshly on the door, “Just like that deceitful conjurer to invite and elf.”

“Just like him to gather together a lot of dwarves to conquer a dragon,” She turned to look at him sharply and his eyes pierced her hotly, “And just like a dwarf to think he could ever face such a beast.”

The door opened as the dwarf made to reply and his cheek twitched as he held back the words he had not spent. His face cleared as he looked to the door and he greeted the mousy-haired host with a foreign voice.

“Forgive me,” He stepped inside with a bow of his head, “I got lost. Twice.”

“Not to worry, Thorin,” Gandalf interjected kindly, “The point his you made it. Allow me to introduce our host, Mister Bilbo Baggins.”

“Hmm,” Thorin examined the hobbit carefully and Olynna observed the scene silently, waiting just outside as she leaned down to watch, “Greetings, Master Hobbit.”

Olynna mulled over the dwarf’s name and she should have guessed at his title upon the doorstep. Thorin Oakenshield. Seeing how he looked the hobbit up and down, she could gather that he had little regard for most strangers. Ever distrustful and stern to a fault. It was a wonder the wizard had thought to enlist him to this quest.

“And Olynna,” Gandalf turned to and waved her through the door as she stooped to enter, “I surely haven’t forgotten you, dear. Say hello to Mister Baggins,” She bowed her head to the hobbit and attempted to stand upright in his small house, “And I would imagine you and the king have met already…outside.”

“Yes, but without a formal introduction,” She answered in a low voice, “I daresay he didn’t see a use for name between us.”

“Nonsense,” Gandalf smiled and glanced over his shoulder at the dwarf king. They watched as he greeted his comrades and kin cheerfully. Olynna would never have guessed he had such joy inside of him upon their meeting but she could never expect such as an elf among dwarves, “He can be a bit…wary, but he will come to appreciate you as I do, dear. Once he learns to looks past your blood.”

“I once heard you couldn’t teach an old dwarf new tricks,” She observed as she watched with crossed arms, “I think that old anecdote may prove true.”

“He is not so old,” Gandalf assured her and she looked to the gentle smile he sent her way, “And as much as he doesn’t realize it yet, he will need you on this journey.”

Olynna was want to return the smile if only to comfort herself but the joyous voices had suddenly turned to a rumble of growls. She looked over to the dining room of dwarves as they sneered in her direction and was not surprised at the scene.

“It seems the wizard has invited a foe,” Thorin neared the archway between rooms with his shoulders squared as he spoke to his company, “And I can say now to you, Wizard, that we do not welcome her kind upon her mission.”

“It is not a matter of your whims, Thorin,” Gandalf’s voice was calm but decisive, “As much as you begrudge her people, I would say you need her more than you care to admit.” He looked over the king’s head and continued swiftly, “You all need her and you best accept that now for without her, you’ve less hope in your journey.”

“But…she is an elf!” The bald dwarf exclaimed and spat on the floor causing the hobbit to groan, “It is her kind–”

“Mirkwood elves!” Olynna’s voice rang along the ceiling, “Not my people. I hail from Rivendell and my kin had not part in the harm done to yours.”

“An elf is an elf,” A burly, red-bearded dwarf intoned stiffly, “And any elf is no friend to dwarves.”

“Enough.” Gandalf did not yell but his voice boomed staunchly, “You accept Olynna on your journey or you shall go without me as well…and my thief. Then we shall see how you reclaim your Mountain…I had not thought dwarves impervious to dragon fire.”

“You give us little choice,” Thorin stated defensively, “You’ve gathered us only to plant an enemy among our ranks.”

“I have offered you your Mountain, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf corrected plainly, “And you would reject it based on mistaken prejudice.”

The dwarves began to grumble once more and Thorin turned back as he joined in. Olynna adjusted the ruck sac on her soulder and turned half to the door, speaking quietly, “Very well, Gandalf. I shall return to my home and free them to return to theirs.”

“You will not,” He stopped her with the order, “They will accept your help or be denied mine.”

“Quiet,” Thorin hushed his company at last and turned around with fiery eyes, “We must accept the wizard’s offer.” A murmur began to rise but the king silence the dwarves with a hand, “We must if we are to regain our home.” He nodded his head and looked darkly to Olynna, “We will allow the elf’s presence so long as she is helpful, but make no mistake,” His eyes landed upon the wizard, “She is not of our Company and she never will be.”

Thorin watched the dark-haired elf as she sat on her own. Most of his company had the common sense to keep their distance though he did have to warn his nephews not to mingle with her. The only among them to ever speak to her were the wizard, when he was present, and the hobbit, who was nearly as displaced as she as among the dwarves.

Despite himself, Thorin could not but recall how effective she had proven against the trolls. Were he not so stubborn, he would have allowed himself to believe the wizard’s promise of her necessity. She was more than capable with weapon in hand and held her own alongside the Company. It still did nothing to damper his ill-bodings and all he could send her way were dark looks and deep growls. It did not seem to affect her though for she met him in kind. Her jade eyes filled with distaste and her dainty brows lowered with the corner of her lips in a fearsome grimace.

She sat with her sword beside her longs legs and chewed a piece of lembas from her small ruck sac. After Thorin had kept her from breaking bread with the dwarves that first night in the Shire, she had refused any of their fare, though none had been offered. The king caught himself as he realized he had been staring for a rather long time and quickly averted his eyes. He told himself that he was merely being cautious and nothing more. You could not trust and elf.

Throughout the evening, his eyes returned to her as he tried to decipher her. Thorin still could not understand why the wizard had insisted upon her presence. He volunteered for watch as his mind reeled and sent Dwalin to his bedroll before planting himself against a tree, eyes roaming the camp.

The elf closed her eyes but did not recline, her own back propped up by a tall stone. Her sword remained where it had been beside her and her ruck sac sat just above it. She had spread her ivy-coloured cloak across her front and her legs were sprawled before her, shapely within her sand-coloured leggings. Her dark leather boots were worn and the toes scuffed and Thorin wondered what road she had travelled to make them so.

Again, he caught himself and forced his attention away from the elf with a growl. It was odd how suspicion felt a lot like curiosity. Thorin peered into the dark between trees, consciously avoiding a glance in the elf’s direction, and squared his shoulder. With his mind so unusually wondrous, he knew the night would be endless.

The next morning, Olynna awoke groggy and stiff-backed. She was use to sleeping upright but her night had been restless as she could not place the peculiar feeling of being watched. She had found that among the Company, she often felt more a prisoner than a fellow traveler. She should never had let Gandalf talk her into this debacle.

Other than the oft-absent wizard and mousy hobbit, no one spoke to her. She had expected it to be so but it did not make her isolation any easier, especially when she put her life in the balance for the very dwarves who would not pass a single word her way. She did not need a thank you or some great honour, merely acknowledgement of her existence.

She slid her straight blade into its sheath and slung her sac from her shoulder, stretching her long limbs in the early dawn light. She turned as she smelled the resplendent dwarvish breakfast cooking over the pit which had been stoked back to flames. She had not been graced with a taste if the Company’s cuisine but her mouth watered enviously. Even the hobbit, Bilbo, was allowed a share and it fed the resent forming in her stomach. The last weeks had seen the stake in her chest growing ever deeper at the hands of these dwarves.

She leaned against the tall stone she had slept near and watched the bearded half-men prepare for the day. She took another piece of lembas and some nuts she had gather along the way and began to nibble. She chewed silently, her eyes roaming tiredly, and found a target among the cluster of bodies.

Thorin stood across the small clearing with a drowsy yet intense stare in her direction. He quickly averted his eyes as they met hers but she could not help recall how often she found him staring so. Was he so paranoid that he could not trust her not to slay them at breakfast? Still?

The begrudging king should have been warier of the ponies. Too tall for the stout-legged beasts, Olynna had taken the journey on foot but now it seemed the rest would have to as well. That was, if they could elude the orcs which had so suddenly descended upon them just after noon. Olynna had heard the wargs in the distance before the rest and had thus snatched up Ori before one could take off his head.

She kept to rear of the Company though she could have easily outpaced the shorter dwarves. Gandalf led them away from the east and orcs appeared at their every turn, herding them behind stone out crofts and grassy hills. Already, she knew where they would end up if they were to escape and she knew the dwarves would not be pleased.

* * *

Olynna was right. When they had been rescued by the Rivendell elves and led along the path to their kingdom, she had quietly walked among the grumbling dwarves. None were eager to arrive at their destination and felt they had been tricked into the elvish city. She was less than pleased herself. The last she had been among her own people had been long ago and she did not relish her return.

Elrond greeted her with faint recognition and she kept herself scarce among the noble elves. They must have remembered her but dared not speak of what had driven her from their city. She received a few smiles and words but she did not deign to speak long with those of her kind. Rather she sat among the dwarves, avoiding the elves just as they did.

She could not figure if she had made the right decision. The elves may have given her the cold shoulder or cut her with subtle jabs, but Thorin alone was more than she could bare. As they had fled the orcs and raced towards the cave opening, he had found himself lagging behind trying to help Kili who was slowed by his bow. In an effort to keep the king’s head on his shoulders, Olynna had pulled him by the fur of his jacket and nearly tossed him into the cave, following him closely.

Now he sat at the other end of the table and growled at her audibly. He had sworn at her in khuzdul as he had regained himself after his descent into the cave and during their walk to Rivendell, he had barely let up despite Balin’s effort to calm him. She realized she had humiliated him but was a little shame not preferable to the finality of death?

The other dwarves had seen what she had done and that was undoubtedly the reason for the king’s ire, yet they had not taken it as demeaning. Rather, as they had arrived in Rivendell and tried to catch their bearings, Balin had approached her unseen in the corridor and spoken his first words to her.

“Olynna,” His smile was humble and repentant, “I must speak with you.”

She nodded, unsure of what intent he approached her with.

“First, I should apologize,” His lips wavered with guilt as he spoke, “For how I have behaved towards you, for how all of us have, though I cannot truly speak for the rest.” He looked down as he gentle eyes searched before they found hers once more, “And I must thank you. For today, you saved the king, with grave risk to your own life, and thus, you have saved all of us. For without him, there is no mountain to reclaim.”

She had not been sure how to respond and so she had tried to smile in turn and mumbled some modest words, begging him not to do her such honour. She claimed it was nothing more than instinct and the duty of battle, but he had insisted on thanking her further before releasing her to join the rest.

Little did she know that despite Thorin’s change in heart, she had won over the rest of the Company who looked past their lifelong prejudice to see her as more than her race. And when they crept out of Rivendell in the night and she made sure they took the right paths out of the city, the dwarves resolved to let go of their suspicions. All but Thorin.

Thorin glared at the back of the slender elf. In the last weeks he had been ignored in his orders to his Company to cease their comingling with the elf. He was their king and they defied him so blatantly. Though he had heard the sense in Balin’s words when he argued that she had saved his life outside Rivendell, he would not simply forget all that her race had done to his. Her people were the very reason this journey was necessary.

As they walked through the dreary forest, he did not know that the trees were tainting his spite. Though what he felt towards elves was real, the eerie forest was turning his thoughts sinister. The others wrestled against the madness of the air around them but Thorin’s resent fed into the power of the trees and so his eyes never left the elf walking just ahead of him.

It was not until he was strung up in thick threads that he realized the spiders had descended upon them. And as he struggled, his cocoon slipped and he fell to earth with a soft thump as it was cut from the branch. He tore through with the rest, their beards and hair littered with web like his. The hobbit was nowhere to be seen but the elf stood without a wisp of white upon her.

She ran towards Thorin with her sword drawn and he was sure she was about to run him through. She swung it above him and pulled the heavy body of a great beast through the air so that it landed before him. The giant spider’s legs curled in death and it stilled on the forest floor as more of its kind descended upon the Company. Without a second thought, Thorin’s own blade was out and he was fighting alongside the rest.

“Elf,” He called to her as his shoulder bumped her arm, the two of them pushed together by the surrounding foe, “Thank you.”

“You needn’t thank me,” She replied as she cut another leg from a spider, “But my name isn’t ‘Elf’, if you care to address me.”

He held his tongue from a sharp retort and turned back to the fight. It was all the conversation he could manage in the midst of such chaos and all that would be allowed as elves appeared through the branches with bows drawn.

“Elves,” Dwalin growled as they were closed in by the lithe Mirkwood denizens.

“Elves we may be,” The silver-haired leader drawled, “But it seems we are not the only ones.” His bow slowly turned to Olynna as her sword was wrestled from her hand by another, “Such a group of dwarves is odd but with an elvish maiden among them… Implausible.”

Thorin’s own blade was ripped from his hands but it did not bother him as much as the sight of Olynna’s treatment did. He could not figure why he felt so but it unsettled him to realize that seeing an arrowhead in her face disturbed him. At that moment, it occurred as whisper in the back of his mind that he cared for her as much as any member of his Company. But it was not loud enough for he shook his head and it disappeared with the wind as his ire returned to the new foe which surrounded them.

The Company was searched forcefully, Olynna most of all, as elvish blades were uncovered from beneath her cloak and tunic, and even at her ankle. Though the dwarves retained all that was not weaponry, she was stripped of her pouch of elvish silver and spoken to roughly in the language of her race. Her face remained stoic and unaffected despite the manner of her treatment.

As the dwarves were formed in a marching line of pairs with elves walking sentinel at their wings, Olynna was kept to the rear. Her hands were tied though no other member was restrained so and he could hear the blond prince speaking to her harshly beneath his breath. With a glance back, Thorin could not but admire how she showed nothing. With the shame of her own race being spat at her so, she did not so much as lower her head.

The city of Mirkwood came into sight and they were guided across the land bridges to the great elvish palace. Thorin had been here long ago and had wished to never see the place again. He knew who awaited him within and it was a person he had spent years despising. His anger roiled and he prepared himself to unleash it at last but he reminded himself that he need be wary for the sake of his company.

The dwarves were led away from their king along another corridor and Thorin growled, knowing he was to face the elvenking upon his own. Well, not entirely. The blond prince held Olynna in place, hands released from her bonds, and she waited silently as guards approached the odd pair.

The prince released his prisoners to the two orange-haired guards and Thorin was led ahead of the elf towards the great throne chamber of Mirkwood. He tried not to think of the silent footsteps following him and wondered what punishment awaited the traitorous elf. Surely, it was worse than anything intended for himself.

Thranduil reclined on his large branched throne as Thorin and Olynna were led down the walkway towards him. It was silence as the guard left them to stand before him and for the first, the dwarf king stood shoulder to shoulder with his elven follower. She was unflinching and he kept himself as steady, wishing not to be outdone by an elf.

The elvenking rose with a curious glance and slowly descended the steps of his throne. His eyes flicked towards Olynna but did not remain long as they settled on Thorin and he stopped before him with a discerning look.

“So, Thorin Oakenshield has returned at long last,” Thranduil slithered as he looked down at the dark king, “For what? To reclaim that burned mountain you call home?”

“It is no business of elves what my purpose is,” Thorin bristled and his eyes burned with ire, “You’ve no right to hold me or my company.”

“I have every right,” Thranduil retorted and looked down his slender nose, “This is my kingdom and I will not allow some foolish dwarf to awaken a dragon and bring doom upon us all.”

“This is not my kingdom and you are not my king,” Thorin growled and squared his shoulders, “Release my company and let us be on our way.”

The elvenking’s eyes flashed with wrath and he turned his back to the dwarf king. Despite the height difference, Thorin always seemed to overshadow the silver king of Mirkwood. Thranduil lashed around with fury as his words boomed dangerously across the chamber, speaking of the destruction wrought of fiery beasts. His skin mottled before the eyes of the prisoners and his porcelain veneer was shattered with the scars of the past.

For a moment, Thorin thought of what he would face in the dragon Smaug. That his fate could be the same or worse, though his scars he would not be able to hide so skillfully. But then he thought of the past and all he had lost and the memories of home which had driven him through his tumultuous life. If death was the price of Erebor, he would gladly pay it.

“ **My life is my own to ruin** ,” Thorin declared, “And those are my men in your cells. You’ve no right to hold any of us here.”

“If you insist upon this folly of a mission, then I have no choice,” Thranduil had bent so that he was level with the dwarf, “You have your choice. You turn back now or you go no further.”

“You will not hold us,” Thorin’s voice was low but none less frightening, “You will try but dwarves are not of the heart to be the prisoner of elves.”

“Oh, but you would gladly take them on as comrades>” Thranduil straightened and his silver irises slowly found Olynna who had stood forgotten as the two kings clashed, “So what is it, Thorin? Mirkwood elves are deceptive creatures, but a Rivendell elf is worthy of your trust? Why, our people our cousins.”

“Rivendell had no part in the deceit of Mirkwood,” Olynna spoke in an even voice, her anger only to be found in her pale green eyes, “I have not come on this journey as an elf, Mirkwoodian or Rivendellian. I have come because history has called upon my honour to do so.”

Thorin was stunned by her words. He had never once thought to inquire to her own motivations on the journey. Instead, all his assumptions had painted her with the colours of every other elf he had known. To hear her defend the history of his people and to place her valour upon her sleeve for a king who would not even look at her was astounding. The breath was knocked from his chest as a cloak of guilt wrapped his figure.

“Dwarves are nothing to history,” Thranduil neared Olynna like a coiling snake, “They do not live long enough to affect that of elves and so, dear, I find your reasons contemptuous. You’ve betrayed your own blood on the misconception that an elf would be beholden to a lesser.”

“You are nothing,” She returned without hesitation, their eyes holding each other without waver, “And when you finally pass from this world, I should hope I am still alive to see the celebrations. I will read the histories which decry your name as the villainy of the elvish race and I shall know that I never let something so meaningless as blood bind me to such dishonor.”

The slap which came stunned both Olynna and Thorin. The elvish woman did not raise her hand to touch the red patch forming on her cheek or to wipe away the blood at her lip, but she was unable to keep herself from wincing at the impact. Thorin had less control than she. He had not the ability to think before he acted, not even to question why he would rile on behalf of the elf. 

He only knew that in a moment he was striking the elvenking in the stomach and then in the head and then he was being held back by Olynna as Thranduil rose with a bloodied nose and sneer upon his lips. Thranduil made to return Thorin’s assault but his hand was stopped by Olynna’s as she released the dwarf king swiftly. The elvenking was visibly shocked at her strength as she held him back and they stood in a vicious stalemate.

“You may strike me but you shall not harm him or any other of these dwarves,” She sounded more a queen than either of them did a king, “I shall not hesitate to make sure of that.”

Thorin saw the consideration in Thranduil’s eyes as the elves stared at each other like feuding lions. Olynna’s long black hair reminded him of a sleek crow and her elegant nose added to affect as her eyes gleamed with fury. The elvenking backed away and waved to an unseen guard who appeared at once.

“Take them to the cells,” He ordered as he turned away, “Make sure to shackle the elf.”

Thorin looked to Olynna as she dared to return his glance. Blood flowed down her chin from her pointed lips and she betrayed no pain in her expression. Despite himself, **Thorin’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears** as he had never expected any to defend his right or his people so passionately. **But neither of them mentioned it** or acknowledged it in their brief wordless exchange. Instead, they were turned away from each other and led to the cells to join their company.

* * *

The hobbit appeared before Thorin’s cell, keys jingling in his hand. Quickly and wordlessly, he shoved them in the door and opened it to release the simmering king. The others were opened in turn as Bilbo set off down the line of cells, their party growing the further they got down the corridor. It was not until they reached Olynna’s that they met with difficulty.

Thorin opened the door, taking the lead into the cell where the elf sat restrained by chains against the wall. Her bounds were so short that she could not stretch her legs to their full length and her face still showed traces of dried blood from the cut on her dark lips. She watched Bilbo blankly as the dwarf king dragged him to where she sat.

“Try every key,” Thorin ordered as the first would not turn in the slot of her shackles, “Every one.”

Bilbo followed his command, each key being tried more frantically than the last, until the final one proved as futile as the rest. Olynna seemed little surprised or disappointed as she found herself trapped in her chains. She smiled and nodded at no one in particular before she spoke.

“Go on,” She said softly, without a hint of sadness or any other emotion, “All of you. Out of here before the elves catch on.”

“We cannot,” Bilbo insisted and the others mumbled in agreement, Balin pushing his way into the cell, “Olynna, we can get you out–”

“You haven’t the time or the means,” She replied calmly and leaned heavily against the stone wall, “Now please, go before you are recaptured. Go and reclaim the Mountain. Your home.”

Little argument was offered as the weight of her words sank in. They all knew she was right in their need for hurry and that protesting would do little to release her. They also realized the sacrifice she was making for all of them in that moment and yet she seemed at peace with her situation.

None felt this burden more than Thorin who looking at her could not deny her loyalty any more. She sat waiting for them to leave, entirely content with the fate of her imprisonment, and in that moment he was astonished. Despite all that he had done to her, the ill-wishes he had sent her way and the harsh words, she would rather be imprisoned than to have them alongside her.

“Olynna,” He knelt beside her and looked into her speckled green eyes, “We will free you from this cell. One day, I promise. As soon as we can.”

“I know, Thorin,” She accepted his promise evenly, as if he had never been malicious to her at all. She acted as if he had been the most gallant person she had ever known and yet he knew that not to be true; he had made sure of that, “I know. Now off with you. You’ve a dragon to slay.”

Thorin bowed his head graciously before he rose, his eyes swimming with the same tears which had threatened days before. He could not fathom it but the elf had inspired in him an admiration unknown to him since the days he had lived in Erebor. There was a dwarven courage to her, one he wished he shared.

She bowed her head in turn and he took his cue without hesitation. He followed the other dwarves on, reluctantly closing the barred-door behind him with a final rueful glance. He made sure to repeat his promise to himself as he raced along with the Company through the airy corridors. He would not leave her to spend eternity in that cell, not if he had breath left in his body.

Olynna was finally asleep. No longer worried about how to free the dwarves from their cells, she was at last able to relax. Her own imprisonment was not entirely pleasing but she was unfazed knowing that the Company was on their way. She had kept her promise to the wizard and their Mountain was in sight.

She did not rest long as her chamber door was rattled loudly. The elves had rushed around chaotically in their fervor to recapture the dwarves and since she had been the least of their worries. Yet now, it seemed they had remembered her presence and a golden-haired guard bent down to unlock her shackles.

“The king has requested your presence,” He stated bluntly, “Though I daresay you should not be so eager to trade the cell for his ire.”

“I care not what you think,” She rolled her eyes and he pulled her to her feet. Her arms and legs were cramped from being restrained for so long and it took all her strength to walk straight and steady.

The corridors were longer than she recalled and they marched along silently until she was halted before a gilt and elm door. The guard opened it swiftly, pushing it inward before directing her through with a sharp shove. She nearly stumbled as she entered but with her pride as her only weapon, she kept her balance and stood within as the door slammed behind her.

Thranduil sat with one leg over the other and a glass of burgundy wine in hand. He watched her latently, his eyes taking the full measure of her as he reclined in an illusion of nonchalance.

“Olynna, is it?” He greeted her with a snakelike grin, “Would you like a seat?”

She gave no answer and remained where she stood, staring back unflinchingly.

“Let me begin again,” He shifted in his chair and leaned forward menacingly, “Sit down, Olynna. For I will not ask again.”

She considered his warning, lending little weight to his threat, and more in the mood of placating him she neared with measured steps. She lowered herself into the chair he motioned towards and waited for him to continue. She could tell he was more interested in the sound of his own voice than hers.

“Tell me, do you not regret loyalty to such an ingenuous king as Thorin Oakenshield?” He prompted in an effort to rile her, “I mean, you shed blood for a dwarf who would not even free you from your bonds.”

She smiled at him, recognizing his attempts to dissemble her. She would not surrender. If she could make it this far under the loathing of Thorin, she could surely repel the elvenking’s onslaught.

“Those dwarves left you here without a second thought,” He baited her but she gave him no response, watching him boldly, “And to what? I could have you killed. For treason. For trespassing. For nothing at all. Do you think that king or any of his company would care if they heard their elven attendant dead?”

“I am no attendant,” She returned coolly, “And I am not afraid of your threats, whether you follow through on them or not. Kill me, torture me, leave me to rot in that cell. You, Thranduil Elvenking, nor any other elf in this world hold any true power over me.”

She could see his surprise at her response as his eyes searched her and he found no crack in her defenses. She could not herself explain why she felt beholden to the Company, though all but their leader had shown themselves to be kind to her. She merely knew that she was done living at the behest of her elven blood and the antiquated ways of her race.

“Very well,” He accepted, showing only a trace of his disappointment, “You may go.” He dismissed her shortly and sipped from his wine.

She stood and made for the door without hesitation. The thought of her cell and chains was preferable to his company. As she reached for the handle, she was stopped by his voice.

“I shall call for you again…when we find your king. Then you can watch as I put him back in his rightful place.”

* * *

Olynna sat in the tent, a cool evening breeze seeping in under the canvas. It was cozier than her cell though her wrists and ankles were still bound by shackles. The silver-haired king stood near a round table across from a dark-haired man called Bard. They spoke over it as the wizard stood in the corner with arms crossed, avoiding her gaze.

He had tried in good faith to barter her release but the elvenking would not surrender. Gandalf had apologized to her but she had waved away his words. It was not his fault; she had chosen to come along on this journey. Though he had requested it of her, he had no forced her hand.

Looking back to the man and elf plotting their stand against the dwarf awaiting them in his Mountain, the wizard shook his head before leaving through the flap. Olynna had never seen him so perturbed and it unsettled her. She had great respect for Gandalf and in him had found the virtues she treasured most in this world. All that elves did not possess.

“Of what importance is she?” Bard’s voice brought her back as his dark eyes settled on her.

“More than you know,” Thranduil smirked as he pulled his silk robe tighter against the evening breeze which came through the flap, “She may be the key to bringing the king from his mountain.”

“Not the only one,” Gandalf had appeared at the door once more, a short figure at his side. Olynna frowned as she watched Bilbo step forward.

“And who is this?” Thranduil narrowed his eyes and Olynna caught Bilbo’s eye. He looked away shamefully and held onto something unseen in his pocket.

“Bilbo Baggins,” The hobbit introduced himself, “And I think I may have something of use to you.”

* * *

Her lip had healed days ago but now Olynna’s eye was swollen and a gash ran across her cheekbone. With the Arkenstone in hand, Thranduil was more than confident that he could provoke the King Under the Mountain. Yet, he thought two advantages better than one. He had mused alone with her in his tent, contemplating his barter with Thorin the next morning.

He relished the sight of Thorin’s anger at his possession of the stone. But that was not enough for the elvenking, he wanted to hurt the dwarf. He asked her how upset she thought the king would be should he present her corpse to him. She told him little and less. He did not believe her and laughed at what he thought to be a bluff.

It was not though. She knew she could not convince him but she was more than certain that the king would have little concern for her well-being. He had promised to free her and she had saw the truth in that vow, but it was honour that drove him and no especial attachment.

Thus, the elvenking had struck her again, leaving her with a black-eye and battered cheek, her jawline coloured with hues of purple and blue. She would have laughed at his foolishness if it did not hurt so. Even as she was pulled forward by the shackles on her wrists, her face seemed to throb from the action.

“If the arkenstone cannot draw you from your mountain, Thorin Oakenshield,” Thranduil called as Olynna was guided forward, “Perhaps she will.”

Olynna was brought to the front of the elvish lines and looked up to see the dwarves peering down from the open mountainside. She could hear, even from so far, the shouts and roars of the Company. All but Thorin who glowered down from his kingdom at the elves and men before him. As she had expected, she was even less than some piece of rock to him.

“You can tempt me with your elven tricks,” Thorin called down, “But you shall not take my Mountain from me! I am the king!”

He turned and walked away from the edge of the mountain overlook and Olynna could see the other dwarves tittering in confusion. Balin was at Thorin’s shoulder but found himself brushed aside. Even from there, she could tell he was pleading for and failing to gain her release.

“I told you,” Olynna looked up at the elvenking through her unscathed eye, “He cares not for me.”

“But you care for him?” He challenged her, with bemusement and disapproval.

She asked herself the same as she could not figure how to answer. She shrugged and looked ahead of herself, waiting to be led away as she knew her usefulness done with. She cared for all the dwarves, every one of them, and the hobbit, and she would die in shackles for them if she must.

Yet as she thought further, she realized there was a twinge in her chest which came at the thought of Thorin and none other. As Bilbo had explained to her, the king was sick and deluded and she could see that even from such a distance. She could hear it in his voice. Yet, she could not tell herself that the madness was the reason for his disregard for her.

She knew there was a battle coming and that the prospect of the Company was not an envious one. She was shaken at the thought of losing them and that they should be slaughtered so shortly after regaining their long-lost home. It was tragic and yet she could do little to fulfill her promise to both the Company and Gandalf. She was helpless to protect those she had sworn her life to and to her, death was all she could see on the horizon.

All around Thorin was chaos. The bodies of elves and dwarves clashed around him as his sword cut through the onslaught. His company stood alongside him and in the spirit of the Mountain, they battered their foe without qualm. He had never been prouder of them and he was honoured to face his death with them.

Fighting his way forward, he searched desperately for the raven-black hair among the fray. He could not be sure Olynna was among the warring figures, but Thranduil had flaunted her once more before the arrival of the orcs. Her face had been black and blue and it was that image which had drawn him forth from the insanity of the mountain gold.

If she were dead already, he would owe it to her to find her body and give a proper funeral. She had suffered for him, had bled for him, and he could not use her race to ignore the truth of that. It pained him to think that she was likely perished among the rabble and it struck him heavily as every minute passed without disproving his fears.

Reluctantly, he continued onward. Upon the back of a ram he charged up the steep decline to Ravenhill, seeking out a foe greater than Thranduil. Azog the Defiler awaited him there and he was to end this rivalry for good, whether it cost him his life or not.

His thoughts of Olynna seeped away as his nephews and closest friend, Dwalin, followed him and they fought the beasts awaiting them. Battle often cleared his head and in his moments of bloodlust, there was only the present and nothing more. But this was a different fight, this was for the Mountain. For his people.

Spotting Azog among his foe, he ran forward, leaving his nephews and Dwalin to fight alone. He could not think of anything but decapitating the orcish brute. His sword moved with him as he slid across the ice and at once, the silver clashed with the metal arm of the mutilated orc.

It was in that moment that Thorin foresaw his fate. This was to be his last fight, it had to be. This was a foe which he could not defeat in life, but in death. Every slash took from him another ounce of strength and every counter spent what little hope he had left in his body.

As the ice cracked around him though, an idea sparked in his mind. It may just be fate fracturing the sheets below and he danced around the orc with his blade until he stood upon the steady ice. With a smile on his face, he watched the realization dawn upon Azog and the orc fell through into the frigid water.

Thorin’s victory was short-lived as his foot was impaled from beneath the ice and Azog threw him onto the ice as he emerged from the depths. All of the king’s fears were confirmed in that moment but he knew he was not to die alone in this battle. He rose, his foot bleeding and slippery on the cold ice as he charged once more.

He hacked and slashed but gained little ground until he was forced down onto the ice, Azog’s blade bearing down on him. His arms wavered as he held back the edge nearing his chest and as he was about to release it to trade one deadly blow for another, he was suddenly freed from the weight of his foe.

Azog was tackled by a blur of dark-hair and silver. Thorin sat up as he watched Olynna struggling with the pale orc, her blade keeping him off-balance as he tried to rise to his feet. She was quicker and stronger than he could ever expect and he watched with amazement as she slashed the flesh of her foe, though not deep enough as her sword was pushed away each time before she could pierce muscle.

Suddenly, she was down on her knees as she screamed out in pain and batted away another strike. Azog had caught her knee and dark blood coated the ice around her, though she fought on desperately. It was then that Thorin’s sense returned and his own blade rose in defense.

Azog pulled back for killing blow but his arm could not make its full descent as once again, the dwarf king hacked it from him. The blade with had replaced flesh and bone fell to the ice and the orc turned in shock and pain as more of his arm had been shaved away. Thorin reeled under an aimed strike of the orc’s other arm and brought his sword into the stomach of Azog, eliciting a deep roar from the beast as he sunk to his knees.

The king pulled his blade from the flesh and backed away as Azog bled onto the ice and struggled against his impending death. Slowly he slumped forward, one arm barely holding him up and Thorin sliced through the meat of his neck, finishing the job for good as the lifeless pale body collapsed to the ice at last.

Thorin breathed out heavily, the adrenaline flowing through him as he turned back with shaking hands. He released his sword, letting it clatter across the ice, as he saw Olynna grasping her leg with a pained grimace. She struggled to contain the blood and at once, the king knelt at her side, cutting away a strip of his tunic form beneath his armour.

He tied it around her leg tightly as she grunted and her bloodied hand rescinded from the gash as they too shook. His own hands steadied as he focused on her wound but his body felt like it would not cease moving.

“Olynna,” He looked up at last, making sure that it truly was her, “I’m so sorry.”

He reached up and touched her uninjured cheek, his fingers leaving a smear of her own blood as her jaw clenched with pain. She seemed to flinch at his touch and he had never seen her do so before. He supposed he deserved it for all he had done.

“I meant it, you know?” He began quietly as he brought himself nearer on his knees, “When I said we would come back for you, it’s only…”

“Thorin,” She spoke, her bruised cheek twitching with agony as she did, “Please, you don’t have to explain. You owe me nothing.”

“I owe you every apology I can utter in this lifetime,” He affirmed and at last the tears he had held back for so long spilled down his cheeks, surprising even him as they trickled into his beard, “I…was wrong. You may be an elf but that doesn’t matter. It never did. I was a fool.”

He swallowed and she looked away, hiding the tears forming in her own eyes. It was disbelief. It was relief. It was pain. It was all that she had endured in the last months. It was all because of him and it cut him deeper than Azog’s blade ever could have.

“But I am just a dwarf and we are a stubborn race,” He continued through the slow descent of his tears. Tears of shame and realization. “You saved my life. Today. And in Mirkwood. In the forest. Outside of Rivendell. You did so many times and I had not the grace to see that.”

“I never did it for a thank you,” She said quietly as she shivered, the rush of battle draining from her as agony and cold overtook her, “I did it because I said I would. Because I swore to help you get your mountain back. I did that. Now you have your home…and I can go find mine. Wherever it may be.”

She pushed herself to one knee and slowly fought to stand on her one good leg. Thorin rose with her, his foot sore but bearable. He steadied her as she wobbled and held her in place before she could turn away.

“What if…” He gulped and wiped away his tears with his free hand, “…you already found it? Your home.”

“I am not a dwarf, I don’t belong here,” She wiped away her own tears, her one leg supporting her precariously as she kept weight from her other, “You were right. I had no place among your company. Look how much you did without me.”

“Stop!” His voice was harsher than he intended, “All that I said and did before was ignorance. You are every bit a member of this company as any other. You saved this company. You saved the Mountain.” He looked at her intently, “You saved me, Olynna, and I would be honoured if you would stay in Erebor. Not forever, but at least until you can stand on two feet.”

She looked around and her eyes fixed on the three dwarves and hobbit nearing from across the ice. She turned back to him and nodded, a quiet sigh escaping her.

“Thorin,” She bowed her head to him meekly, “I would be more honoured to stay. If you would have me.”

“Always,” He smiled and released her arm, a sense of fulfillment he had never known sprung within him. Having her near him, even if for only a little longer, was glorious to him. “Olynna,” Slowly he lowered himself so he was kneeling before her and placed his hand over his heart, “You will always have a place in the Mountain. For as long as my blood rules it. I promise you that.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olynna ponders her place in Erebor.

Olynna’s knee throbbed as she hobbled on one leg across the battlefield leaning heavily against Gandalf’s shoulder. The elderly gray wizard was stronger than he looked, though she was little surprised as she had witnessed him wield a sword when necessary. Thorin walked beside her with his own limp and his arm around Dwalin’s burly shoulders for support.

The royal nephews led them with superficial cuts already sloppily patched and the sullen hobbit traipsed between them. The rest of the Company found them as they descended from Ravenshill and they made the battle-weary trek to the Mountain. For Olynna it would be the first time she would see beyond the rocky façade.

It was only then that a sense of longing rose within her. She would be the first elf to enter the Mountain in more than a century. Had it not been for this very moment that she had braved the trolls outside The Shire, returned to Rivendell, fled the pursuit of orcs and goblins, and withstood the cells of Mirkwood? It was for Erebor that she had bled and so that she could see the dwarves returned in peace to their mountain home.

Thinking of the odd comradery she had formed with the company of half-men, she looked over at Thorin whose features were wrought with agony, underlined by the relief of victory. He had changed so much since they had first met on the steps of Bilbo’s home. Or perhaps he had always been this way and had only kept that part of himself from her in self-defense.

Perhaps she had changed.

He had knelt before her on the ice as if he was not a king and promised her a place in the Mountain. Even she, an elf with little wisdom in the way of dwarves, knew the significance of such a vow. Before the greed of Smaug had descended on Erebor, the inhabitants of the Mountain had been renowned for their hospitality.

Despite the King Under the Mountain’s impassioned invitation, Olynna could not but doubt its authenticity. Having been so close to death only moments before his pledge she could not be certain if his heart and mind had been truly aligned with his words. How long would it be until he recalled her lineage and once more graced her with the barbs of his deep-seeded prejudice?

As for herself, she could not explain her own actions. She could not trace the logic which had led to her charging unarmoured at the pale orc. She only recalled that she had held silver in her hand and the fire of battle burned in her blood. As she raced across the ice, she had thought herself too late and had believed the king to be dead already as she clashed blades with Azog. It had stunned her then that the king had kept her from losing her head to the pale orc’s steel arm and that his own remained intact.

The steep decline was the most difficult obstacle to reaching the Mountain, though crossing the plain of dead bodies had been no less of a chore. By the time they had reached the doorway which lead into the depths of Erebor, Olynna was in a rare state of breathlessness as she gritted her teeth against the pain radiating from her leg. Realizing her discomfort, Gandalf stopped and rested her against the wall, hunching down to look at her wound.

“It will have to be dealt with the old-fashioned way,” He pulled back the fabric with a frown, “But a touch of magic can do for the pain until we find a proper place to rest.”

His hand brushed lightly over her gashed knee and the pain peaked sharply, causing her to grunt, before her leg grew numb entirely.

“Of course, it will make walking a bit more troublesome,” Gandalf stood upright and smiled beneath his grey beard, “Just like an old wizard to magic before he thinks.”

He took her arm once more and with her leg nearly useless, she leaned on Gandalf heavily as they continued on. They trailed Thorin and Dwalin slowly, Olynna curiously examining the runes carved into the walls. They were more intricate than the Sindarin etchings she had grown up with. She reached out precariously to trace one with her fingers but was embarrassed when she looked forward to find the king watching her over his shoulder.

She rescinded her hand and averted her eyes, keeping her head down as she focused on moving forward. She sensed the heat of Thorin’s eyes cool after a moment and she exhaled quietly. He had invited her into his Mountain but she could not be sure of how much caution he had held in doing so. She hoped her leg was not so poorly as it felt and that she could be away before overstaying her welcome.

* * *

 

Thorin’s foot stung as he walked along the dark corridors but he could bear it for the midnight stroll. It was the first he had been able to traverse Erebor without the pall of dragon sickness or threat of war upon him. This was his true return to the Mountain. It was just as glorious as he remembered, the night always more precious than the day. The sun did little for the dark mountain but the moonlight limned silver through the open façade and lent an ethereal atmosphere to his long-lost home.

He came upon the throne room and stopped just inside the archway. The throne sat tall against the moonlight and stars peeked in from across the silk of the night sky. Another form stood against the tapestry of blue and silver and nearly turned Thorin back. He could not figure why he had the urge to hide from Olynna but it was hard to resist. Likely, he was only trying to avoid his own confused thoughts about her.

When they had returned to the Mountain earlier that day with shared battle wounds, even his pain had failed to turn his mind from the elf. Despite the blood trailing from his foot, he only found himself dwelling on Olynna and the blood she had shed for him. He had insisted upon her own tending before his and watched with guilt as her flesh was stitched and her leg braced by Oin.

He kept himself from fleeing and instead urged himself forward. As he neared, he realized she was leaning heavily against the stone barrier around the opening of the mountain, her right foot at the end of her wrapped leg, barely touching the ground. She showed no sign of hearing his approach as she stood watching the star-speckled sky.

“Thorin,” Her voice was low as he stopped beside her, his own gait leading him towards her slowly and unevenly, “Should you not be abed?”

“Shouldn’t you?” He returned plainly with an unseen smirk, “With your leg, it is astounding you made it this far.”

“And your foot?” She kept her eyes upward as she spoke in a near hypnotic state, “You were as good as impaled.”

He watched her as she watched the stars and he forgot all about the pain which slowed him and his own want to admire the stars. The moonlight illuminated her tawny skin and sparked the flame in her jade eyes. Her raven-black hair hung like a bolt of silk down her back and her long nose was delicately placed over the points of her rounded lips. At that moment, he forgot all that stood between dwarf and elf. It was only two friends standing in the moonlight, basking in the mercy of the fates of war.

“My foot is just fine,” He assured her, smiling at the stoicism of her profile, “You’ve worried enough for me this day.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” She explained unbidden, “I could claim it was the pain but I don’t truly know what keeps me awake.”

He nodded in agreement. He could no better understand his own restlessness. Sometimes the Mountain just called to you and could not be ignored.

“You’ve a beautiful home, King Thorin,” She spoke in a formal tone, “I’ve never seen a night so beautiful. Not even in Rivendell.”

“Oh, are we using titles now, Lady Olynna?” He teased her and she looked at him at last. The directness of her eyes sent a tingle across his flesh, “You are not a visitor here if you don’t wish to be. I meant what I said on the ice. It wasn’t just loss of blood.”

“Thank you,” She said quietly and looked back to the stars, “But I am an elf, still. I don’t belong here.”

He caught himself before he could give a startled response. He wanted to argue with her and tell her to stay, order her to, but he knew he could not. After all, had he not been the one to so staunchly set her apart from himself? He could not blame her for not wanting to remain; only himself.

If she were to leave, there was not much he could do to change her mind. He hid the frown tugging at the corners of his lips and forced his eyes away from her, staring at the dark horizon.

“Well, then,” He uttered in a small voice, heavy in the night air, “Where do you belong?”

He sensed her eyes turn upon him once more as she gave him a long look, pondering his question as he did the same. He realized how little he truly knew of her and wished he had thought to learn more. If only she would tell him all but she said nothing and focused again on the sky. A silence rose between them, which though not uncomfortable, trapped both of them in unspoken thoughts.

* * *

 

The Mountain sprang to life almost immediately, although the rest of the displaced Erebor dwarves would not arrive for some time. Gloin, Oin, Bofur, and Bifur were all busily working at reviving the dead forge, Bilbo and Ori had cheerfully volunteered to salvage what they could of the dusty library, Bombur had forced Nori down to the desolate kitchens, and Dori had wandered off to map out the damage to the Mountain. That left the rest to form a tenuous unofficial council and discuss the future of the kingdom, though Gandalf had once more left them with little explanation.

“For the last time, Fili,” Thorin brimmed, at last succumbing to his nephew’s teasing and letting his temper loose, “I am not crazy! I just want what belongs to the Mountain…You don’t understand what Thranduil will do with the Arkenstone.”

“He won’t do anything with the Arkenstone,” Olynna spoke with her arms crossed casually. She was seated along the old council table with her leg splayed out in its stiff leather brace beneath, “For Thranduil does not have it.”

“He doesn’t?” Thorin’s ire subsided as he looked to her with confusion, “Why did you not speak earlier?”

“I did not feel like shouting,” She replied nonchalantly. She had grown less wary as the days passed though there remained to her an implacable mask, “Anyhow, if you would let me explain.”

“Please do,” Balin urged her on eagerly, “This business is better sorted before–”

“Balin, I am not a lunatic,” Thorin’s patience had been spent already on his nephews and his paranoia of looming insanity was like to bring on a new kind of madness.

The tabled laughed and the king frowned darkly until Olynna leaned forward and hit the table deafeningly with her fist. All quieted as they looked to her and waited for the words burning on her lips.

“The human has the stone,” She stated evenly, reclining against the back of her chair once more, “Bard. He bargained it from Thranduil…though I cannot say it was his own idea to do so.”

“You?” Dwalin raised a brow.

“Well, I had the chance, a second or two with the man,” She looked away as she so often did when speaking of time in the Elvenking’s custody, “I told him not to trust Thranduil and he should not let their relationship be so one-sided. I warned him of the history between the two kings, as well.”

“Smart,” Balin praised with a grin and looked to the king, “I told you, Thorin–”

“Enough. You tell me many things. Both worthy and worthless, Balin,” Thorin interjected and shook his head, keeping his attention on Olynna, “Do you know for certain that Bard has the stone?”

“I wouldn’t tell you if I wasn’t,” She assured him and moved her wounded leg with effort under the table, “I think a barter is possible with the man. He seems little attached the jewel, for him it is more collateral than anything against Thranduil. His people need to rebuild and while Mirkwood has opened their food stores to the city, they’ll need iron tools to work their new land and repairs. Not to mention a host of other goods the Mountain could provide.”

“I daresay the elf may just be as astute a politician as she is a warrior,” Balin let his admiration for the elf shine through, gloating at his king as he once more rubbed salt in the wound of his past misgivings for her.

“Hmmp,” Thorin grunted and rolled his blue eyes with resent, “I suppose then we owe the bargeman a visit.”

“He’s a king now,” Olynna corrected, “And I can tend to that visit.”

“With your leg?” Kili challenged as the rest of the table stared at her.

“Yes, with my leg,” She assured sharply, “On my way to Rivendell.”

“Rivendell?” The table erupted in confusion and tittered momentarily.

“Yes,” She spoke over the din and they quieted at once, “I must speak with Elrond…”

“Elrond?” Thorin’s features shaded with suspicion; it seemed he had not so easily forgotten his loathing for elves.

“Mirkwood may no longer besiege this Mountain but Thranduil is not so easily appeased,” She explained as she leaned forward once more, “And you haven’t the forces to keep him at bay. I plan to go to Rivendell and seek aid in doing so…and I will not return without it.”

“If they let you return at all,” Fili tilted his head and chewed his lip between words, “It did not seem during our visit that you were very welcomed among your own people.”

“Old grudges,” She avoided further explanation, “Regardless, any of you would have little hope in gaining anything from a city of elves. I must be the one to do this.”

“Be that as it may,” Balin’s age showed clearly as he recalled the tumult of their journey, “It is business of Erebor and we cannot allow you to do our bidding alone.”

“Which one should we send then?” Dwalin eyed Kili and Fili warily, “I don’t think they’ve the making of ambassadors.”

“Neither,” Thorin stood, wincing at the jolt it sent through his bandaged foot, “I shall go. It is my kingdom and I should stand for it.”

“Thorin, you…you’re wounded and we need you here in the Mountain,” Balin argued desperately as he looked up at his king.

“You can manage without me and I have two heirs who need some royal training,” He looked to his nephews with a subtle grin, “Besides, I must fetch their mother from Ered Luin, she will be awaiting me…it is not far from Rivendell.”

“Thorin,” Dwalin made to join his brother’s plea but was silence by the king’s hand which raised in hush.

“It is decided, I will go,” Thorin placed his hands on the table and leaned on them with authority, “Now, this meeting is adjourned. You all have work to do.”

No further resistance was shown by the table as they began to rise at their king’s order. Despite his new geniality for his company, Thorin still had a will to be reckoned with and none dared test it. He had a true kingdom on his shoulders now and it showed in his new resilience. As the dwarves shuffled out, Olynna was only just on her feet, her leg presenting her with more difficulty than she liked.

“If you would, Olynna,” Thorin kept her from leaving as the rest of the council’s footsteps distanced down the corridor, “I have been meaning to speak with you.”

She nodded and stood beside her chair patiently, unable to move much without the aid of the wall or tables. She feared he was to fulfill her suspicions and rescind his welcome or that he wished to remand her for her forwardness during their council. Whatever it was, it made her stomach writhe and her chest heavy.

Thorin limped, his foot not entirely burdensome, to the corner of the room where a chest rested. It was dusty and had only just appeared in the old council hall. She had watched Dwalin and Gloin as they had brought it in the day before. Thorin had smiled then but had not opened it for all to see, but he did now.

He opened the long chest, each buckle falling open beneath his fingers, before he lifted the lid with a sharp creak. He reached within and to Olynna’s surprise it was not the sound of shuffling papers but the clink and knock of metal and wood. From within, Thorin pull a long staff, though to an elf it was not much taller than waist height.

“This was my grandfather’s,” He explained as he neared her with long ebony staff, a head of silver forged to resemble a crow’s head, “To him of course, it was solely decorous, but I think you may have a better use for it.” He held it out to her as he stopped before her, “A cane, perhaps?”

“Hmm,” She took it delicately from him and examined it with interest. The crow’s head was ornately detailed, with every feather fleshed out in the silver and eyes of peridot. Dwarven runes ran down the length of the black wood and the bottom was capped in more silver. “It’s a masterpiece of craftsmanship, but I think I could find a more fitting walking stick, something less precious.”

“Nonsense,” Thorin pushed away the staff as she tried to return it to him, “I should think this the least of what I owe you and besides, I would not offer it without meaning to. As it were, if we are to travel in the name of Erebor, we must look the part. I cannot have you walking into meetings with a crooked stick of walnut or oak.”

“Thank you, Thorin,” Olynna could tell there was little argument to be had with the ever obstinate king, “I truly appreciate it. It is a fine cane indeed.”

“For a fine elf,” He assured her with a smile and a bow, two gestures which stunned her while setting her stomach to roil.

The king had yet to return to his old ways and she was wary of letting him fool her into believing he would not. It would hurt her more to let herself think him changed only to have him turn on her with his former coldness. She had lived too long to allow her guard to fall so easily.

Thorin stood before the man Bard who he had been told was now king. Despite such reports, the man seemed little more than the leader of a desperate people. Olynna leaned against her cane and looked around the barren hall with a vacant expression. The dwarf and human had not had the best of relationships but they would have to form one if either of their kingdoms were to survive.

“My people have yet to come from Ered Luin,” Thorin explained, knowing that at the moment he had little bargaining power, “But I have spoken with Dain, my cousin and king of the Iron Hills. He had the means and will to provide your people with the tools you need to rebuild the city of Dale and to take up the land.”

“Then why should I not go straight to him?” Bard challenged, he had fallen into the role of king easier than any had expected.

“Because he will not deal with you, you haven’t enough to offer him,” Thorin stated plainly, knowing his cousin’s shifting temper and lack of empathy for other race, despite his good heart, “Of anything, I do not lack gold and I can pay him in full and expect nothing in return from you but your alliance…and the Arkenstone.”

“This stone nearly drove you to madness,” Bard countered unbending, “What is to say that if I hand it over, it doesn’t deliver you once more to the brink of war?”

“It did not, though,” Thorin argued knowing that there was little assurance he had for any that he would not madden once more, “And this stone is rightfully the property of the Mountain, not of me or any dwarf, but of the Mountain. It will be set in its rightful place and nothing more.”

“Hmm,” Bard’s grey eyes looked to Olynna slowly as if only just recalling her presence, “And what would you say? You are the one who convinced me to take the stone.”

“I did so because I knew Thranduil could not be trusted with it,” She looked at him directly, recalling how she had been so humiliated before him while imprisoned by the Elvenking, “Whatever your kingdom’s relations with Mirkwood, we have no concern. I knew this stone could secure the alliance of Erebor and Dale and I know now that these two kingdoms need each other if there is any hope to survive. The winter is nipping at our heels already and as it stands, Mirkwood can and will do little to see either of us through it.”

“Mirkwood has given us food, I daresay that it quite more than adequate.”

“For now,” Olynna did not flinch as she continued, “That food will feed your people but it will not keep them warm. The houses in this city will not either, not if they are left at they are and it is plain to see you lack the means to reinforce them on your own. As it were, it is a task that will take time and the Mountain will burn before winter with or without your aid…and its doors are always open to its friends.”

Bard frowned, realizing the truth of her words, crossing his arms as he lowered his chin to think. His few advisors had been kept elsewhere as he had little trust for them and he knew they would give little regard to the dwarves. He had to do what was right for his people and could not let prejudice doom him or those who depended on him.

“I cannot say you’re wrong,” He looked up at last and turned his attention to Thorin, “King Thorin, I will accept your terms if you would accept those I have laid out.”

“King Bard,” Thorin squared his shoulder with an amicable smile, “I am more than happy to align my kingdom with yours. We will be travelling to Rivendell from here and intend to return with more aid. Should you wish, we will offer that too.”

“Rivendell?” Bard was amused as he could not figure that the dwarven king should seek the aid of elves while spurning those of Mirkwood, “I don’t know much of the city but I wish you well in such a mission. I have not found elves much less stubborn than dwarves in my experience.”

“Neither have I,” Thorin agreed and held out his hand, “I shall send a message to my council and you will have all you need.”

“I shall have the stone brought up,” Bard shook Thorin’s hand firmly and released it with his own rare smile, “I wish you well in your journeys and await your return.”

The kings exchanged a mutual look of respect and understanding before dismissing each other with bows. It was the least of the obstacle’s facing Thorin and the road only looked longer from here on out.

Olynna rode through the gates of Rivendell, her tall steed trailing after Thorin’s stouter one. They had acquired the slender horse and stumpy ram from the spoils of the battle and they had not been sure they would make the long trek to Rivendell. Ahead was Ered Luin and that would test the beasts to their limits.

Olynna was more concerned with the elven city than the last leg of their journey. In her last visit, she had not the chance to address all that had driven her from her home. Beneath all the other reasons to go, she wanted to return so that she could end that chapter of her life for good. And whether it ended for the best or worst, she would at least have the peace of closure.

She could tell that Thorin sensed her anxiety as they dismounted, greeted by Lindir, Elrond’s closest attendant. He gave her little attention as he directed their animals away and informed them of their imminent meeting with the city’s lord. The lithe elf hurried them along and left them waiting outside the doors of Elrond’s receiving chambers.

“Are you alright, Olynna?” Thorin asked as he eyed the death grip she had on the head of her cane, the crow’s beak poking out from between her middle fingers.

“Just fine,” She assured with a sigh and looked to him with foggy eyes, “It is only…it has been a long time. Our last visit not included.”

“It is difficult to return home,” He offered with a small smile, “Or whatever you consider this place to be.”

“It was home once,” She turned back to the tall doors, reading the symbols etched into them, “It hasn’t been for a long time…and I don’t think it ever will be again.”

There was little response Thorin could give as the doors opened suddenly and finely attired attendants waved them forward. Olynna stayed a step back, showing the proper deference to a visiting king as Thorin led her inside. Stopping before Elrond and his discerning eyes, she bowed her head in the humblest gesture she could muster.

“King Thorin, I hear you’ve reclaimed your Mountain,” Elrond began though he was not so disproving as he had been upon the king’s last encounter with him, “I was wrong to doubt you.”

“I would not presume to boast, Lord Elrond,” Thorin’s voice had all the grace of a king, “And I have not come here to do so.”

“I didn’t think so,” Elrond smiled and leaned forward amicably, “I regret that our last meeting was…as it was. But the city of Rivendell has no interest in acquiring enemies. Your people must return to their home and they’ve a long way to go. I would be more than happy to help in such a trek.”

“We thank you, Lord Elrond,” Olynna stepped forward, leaning heavily on her cane as her leg ached, “And would be most happy to accept such aid, but we have come to ask more than that. Of course, we do not come begging, we have much to offer in return.”

“I do not doubt the integrity of Thorin, King Under the Mountain,” Elrond’s eyes settled on his former subject, “But I wonder why I should listen to such an entreaty from you…whom I’ve little reason to trust.”

“I did not betray you, as much as you may believe I did,” Olynna turned to steel before Elrond and forgot about her wounded leg. It had healed some but she still required the brace and staff to keep her upright, “I only did what I thought right but in the world of elves, morality has little to do with what is considered right or wrong.”

“I will not have this conversation again, Olynna, I am much aware of your beliefs,” He leaned back and set his chin in his hand as he looked down on her, “And all is forgotten, we wish not hold grudges…And we can do little to change the past. Decisions were made, as regrettable as they were, and Rivendell stands by its actions.”

“Changing the past is impossible, I understand,” Olynna held in her irritation, “But atonement…and to choose a different path in the future is not.”

“Did you come here to once more lecture me on my leadership or to seek aid?” Elrond challenged sharply.

“I can set aside the past, I would do so happily if only to live in the present,” Olynna declared, “I can bear no more anger for what is long lost, but yes, we are in need of your help. Erebor cannot be left to stand alone against Mirkwood.”

“Mirkwood?” Elrond tilted his head and arched a brow, “You would have elf against elf?”

“Not a war,” Olynna assured looking to Thorin who nodded his acquiescence, “Only protection. You know how Thranduil is, you know his manner. He will not let the Mountain be if he has the power to do otherwise.”

“Mmm,” Elrond took her meaning plainly. He had little love for the Elvenking and he grimaced at the thought of him. “I know it too well…and for the sake of the innocents returning to the Mountain, I cannot deny Erebor.”

“We would be most grateful for anything you can offer us,” Thorin intoned.

“The elves I send to accompany your people home will remain for a time to see that the Mountain is restored,” Elrond proclaimed with a generous smile, “If need be, they will stand against Mirkwood to make sure that it is.”

“Lord Elrond,” Thorin bowed and Olynna followed suit as best she could on her leg, “I thank you as do the people of the Mountain.”

“No need,” Elrond rose and walked down the steps of his throne, stopping before the king with a bow of his, “Please, stay the night and rest your steeds and yourselves. You will set off in the morning with two hundred of my elves to accompany you in what remains of your journey.”

With that, the king and former citizen were dismissed to the care of Lindir who was to show them to their chambers. Two doors stood opposite each other and were designated as theirs for the night. Olynna was eager to be off her feet and alone. The pair of travelers had been spending their nights on the ground and taking turns on watch. Sleep had been close to non-existent.

As she reached for her door, Olynna was stopped by Thorin’s voice, “Before you retire for the night, forgive me for prying, but why did you leave Rivendell? Before?”

“Why?” She echoed as she turned back and her lips angled in thought, “I…I do not know that it is a story worth telling. Let’s just say I have always been unbearably stubborn.”

“I think it is worth the telling,” Thorin returned and his brows raised in encouragement, “Please?”

“Well…there was a town of Men not far from here, long erased from the map of Middle Earth,” She began, trying to keep her words direct, “It was besieged by goblins, trolls, and other reviled beasts. It was not a warlike town; you see? Not much more than a village of farmers.

“They sent for aid from Rivendell who had long been allied with the town but Elrond thought it not worth the risk. He told the man sent to fetch help that he had not the means to save such an unimportant town, that the Men were more than capable of saving themselves.

“You see that’s the trouble with elves, it is why I would rather be anything but.” She bared her teeth as her face darkened, “Long I was told by my own kind that we were better. That dwarves and humans and other beings were but footnotes to our existence. I never bought into it and the older I got, the more I realized those words were but paltry excuses for the selfish and heartless nature of elves.

“I left with the messenger. I was the only one to do so and Elrond told me not to return. I was one of the only survivors of that battle. Two dozen citizens of the Human town were left and I accompanied them to the nearest city of their own race. They are long dead now, but that many I tried to help,” She looked down at her feet and shifted her weight on her legs. “Anyways, I suspect I reminded Elrond of how he let a whole town of Men perish, that I brought to him some sense of guilt and that is why he chose to help you.”

“Are you not at least heartened that he offered his help this time?” Thorin pondered.

“I am but it cannot bring back those he chose not to,” She turned halfway to her door and smile dully, “I’m tired, Thorin. I must lay down before I fall down. Have a good night.”

“Of course,” He stepped back and bowed his head, “You have a good night, too, Olynna. In the morning then.”

“The morning,” She nodded and turned back, pausing to look over her shoulder at him, “You didn’t have to ask about why I left…but thank you. No one’s ever asked me why.”

With that, she was once more facing her door and pushing inward to disappear behind the wood, leaving Thorin silent in the hall. It was the first she had spoken to any of the reason for her exile and it was nice to have someone listen to her. And that it was Thorin made it even more meaningful. Perhaps he did care after all.

* * *

 

Thorin was nervous. He could not say it was because of his sister for despite how scary she could be; he had never been afraid of her. Dis had been the one person he could always confide in and the only one who had believed in his hopeless mission to reclaim their home. She had been of mind to lead the Company himself if he did not.

He heard Olynna’s uneven steps behind him as he led her through the crowd of dwarves preparing for the road, his stomach flipped once more. As the days had worn on, he had found himself more and more unsettled around the elf. He was certain he knew why he felt so but he was too afraid to admit it to himself. The thought of Dis meeting this elf he had become so attached to was too much as he feared she would deem him a traitor of their blood.

He could see his sister’s dark head through the crowd, it mirrored his own without the silver at the temples which had grown increasingly throughout his mane over the years. He hoped only that she did not see right through him and that she did not drive Olynna away. Thorin was already distraught at the fact that she had seemed so intent that night on leaving. Sooner or later, he would have to face their parting.

As they walked along, the king was disheartened by the rough looks sent Olynna’s way. Arriving with the train of elven escorts from Rivendell, he had faced a dozen questions about trusting them. He assured his people that they were better with them than without and their respect for him kept them from further protest. Yet seeing how they warily watched the elf at his heels, he had to restrain himself from lashing out at them.

“Brother!” Dis had spotted him before he cleared the crowd around her and nearly tackled him to the ground as she embraced, “Where are my sons?” She pulled back and looked to him as her voice shadowed with panic.

“They are well and as mischievous as ever,” He smiled at her and pulled her into another hug before releasing her, “They await us back at the Mountain. I hope I return to a pair of proper princes.”

“Hah, I doubt that, Thorin,” Her laugh was deep and hearty but died as Olynna stopped beside her brother, “And what is this? All these elves hurrying around here?”

“Those are Elrond’s, they have come to help us along, the road is full of trouble,” He explained, hoping she would not try to dissuade his alliance with Rivendell, “But this is Olynna…she helped us win the Mountain.”

“Did she now?” She eyed Olynna up and down but despite his fears, Thorin found little of the disappointment he had expected to see in her thick brows, “That must explain why she has grandfather’s staff…and that leg.”

“I would have died if she had not taken that wound,” Thorin explained and looked to Olynna thankfully, “The Mountain would never have been reclaimed and we would not be here now. She saved my life. She saved all of our lives.”

“I do not doubt it,” Dis smiled at last and stepped up to Olynna, “I can see it in her. I am Dis, the king’s sister,” She introduced herself with a courtly bow of her head, “I am pleased to meet you. Thank you for saving my brother…no doubt from himself.”

“No thank you is needed, my lady,” Olynna replied and leaned stately on her cane, “I am Olynna, a wayward elf who has little to offer but my sword. I am honoured to have wielded it on behalf of your home.”

“Wayward?” Dis rounded on her brother, “Please tell me, Thorin, you have not been so unseemly as to not have invited her to stay among us? You cannot think to cast her out for being an elf, not when you have so–”

“Dis, I have sworn to her a place in Erebor,” Thorin retorted, having forgotten how shrewish she could be, “You needn’t remind me of my manners.”

“I was only making sure,” She shrugged and smiled at the elf once more, “If he ever thinks to rescind the invitation though…you just tell me, dear. I’ll take care of him.”

“Dis!” Thorin growled and looked at her like a child embarrassed by their mother, “That’s enough.”

“No, not close to,” She chuckled and set a hand on his shoulder, “Olynna, if you would allow us a moment, it has been long since I’ve seen my brother and we must speak.”

“As long as you wish,” The elf nodded and backed away awkwardly with her cane before limping away through the crowd.

“Now, Thorin, you devilish little dwarf,” She smirked at her brother and crossed her arms, “Have you gone and fallen for an elf? Of all people?”

“Uh, what? No, Dis, I–” He sputtered over his tongue, “I mean, she…is it that obvious?”

“Only to me brother, not to worry,” She assured him and chuckled, “After all these years of spurning dwarrows and women alike…she is pretty, I’ll give you that.”

“She is an elf,” Thorin looked down and hooked his thumbs in his belt, kicking his toe in the dirt, “She won’t have me. She doesn’t even want to stay in the Mountain.”

“Doesn’t she?” Dis looked over her brother’s shoulder, Olynna still visible over the heads of dwarves, “I think she does…I think perhaps she fears you don’t want her. You can be quite…off-putting, Thorin.”

“But I have told her–”

“You’re not very good at that,” Dis shook her head and put her hands on her hips, “And I can imagine your relationship did not start out so harmonious. You have to be direct when you tell her. You have to show her.”

“But…how?” Thorin dropped his hands desperately, “What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

“Then at least she knows,” Dis neared her brother and touched his cheek gently, “Then at least you tried. What do you have to lose? If you can reclaim the Mountain, you can tell her.”

* * *

 

Olynna no longer needed her cane to walk around but she held onto the silver-headed staff for its craftsmanship. She was honoured that Thorin had given her such a gift and after so long leaning on it, she could not bring herself to be without it. It could be used than more than a walking stick anyhow.

Finally, in sight of the Mountain, she shivered against the blowing snow and an ache echoed in her knee. Despite having healed fully, the cold aggravated the wound and she was assured that immortality did not exempt one from pain. Winter had arrived when they were away and Erebor was burning bright through the frost.

“Home at last,” Thorin pulled up beside her, fur wrapped around his shoulders, “You will not believe how warm the Mountain is in the winter.”

“Hmmm,” She smiled but could not bring herself to the Mountain as home, “Yes, it is nice to be back.”

They dismounted just outside the dark archway sitting atop the steep decline and left their animals to Ori who greeted them outside. Other dwarves had arrived during their sojourn from around Middle Earth and already the Mountain was hard at work for the winter. Dis led Thorin and Olynna, her feet eagerly carrying her forward as her nose sniffed out her sons.

She found them in the council chamber receiving a lecture from Dwalin who seemed less than amused. From what Olynna could gather, they had been rooting around in Dwalin’s chamber and it was never much of a challenge to irk the rough dwarf. Dis interrupted and embraced her sons, setting Dwalin to silence as he could not help but smile at the laughter-filled reunion.

“Well, they certainly are her sons,” Olynna commented as she watched from the doorway beside Thorin, “I wondered where all their cheer came from.”

“Hey,” Thorin nudged her with his elbow, “I’m not entirely miserable.”

“I know,” She looked down at him and smiled. There was something in her that warmed beneath the peak of the Mountain, “You have your moments.”

“You don’t think I can be nice?” The king challenged as he raised a dark brow; his blue eyes twinkling brighter than she had ever seen.

“I never said that,” She shook her head at him, “But I cannot say I never thought it.”

“Oh, Mahal, Olynna,” He grumbled in mock offense before looking back at his sister and nephew with kinly amusement, “Had I anyone to be so cheerful with…I would.”

She kept her lips sealed as she suddenly felt for his loneliness. She had lived much longer than he and much of that she had spent on her own; she knew it was no painless existence. Yet, his was grayer than hers. He had never allowed himself a chance for companionship or love because all he could see was the Mountain. He possessed the most miserable sort of courage.

“Olynna,” His low voice shook her from her errant thoughts, “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” She tried to smile and failed, gripping her cane out of habit. She liked to swing the staff before her as she walked along and had forgotten she still held it.

“Here,” He took her cane and set it just within before turning back to her, “It will be here when we get back. I want to show you something.”

“Oh?” It was all she could muster as she had only been waiting for her cue to leave so that she could retreat to her bed, “Try not to keep me long, Thorin, I am tired.”

“As am I,” He grinned beneath his beard as she looked over at him and she wondered at the secret in his eyes.

He led her along the corridors and up steep stairways, more than she had ever climbed in the Mountain. She was almost out of breath when they stopped and her leg was sore from the exertion. Thorin seemed unfazed by the ascent and looked down the dark narrow hallways before them, which led only one way.

“We must be near to the top,” Olynna commented as she tried to see through the dark, “I’ve never been this high up.”

“Not many have,” He explained as he waved her forward towards the black shape of a door at the end of the corridor, “My sister and I came up here as children…and our brother, but none else were welcomed. My nephews haven’t even been here yet.”

“Oh,” She suddenly felt as if she were trespassing, “Thorin, if you don’t mind me asking…why have you brought me here?”

“We will get to that,” He stopped before the door and unlocked it with a black key withdrawn from his belt, “First, I want you to see.”

He pushed open the door and the snow-paled horizon brightened the dark corridor. He stepped forward and drew her forward by her hand so that she did not stand stunned in the doorway. The sight of the white plains so far below and the rippled grey of the sky above was more than she could have imagined. She had never seen the winter so immaculate.

“Thorin,” She breathed as she stopped before the stone rail of the outlook, “It is beautiful…”

“It is,” He agreed but from the corner of her eye, she saw that he was not looking to the horizon. She turned her head and found he was watching her closely, a smile upon his lips which made her breathless all over again, “You are beautiful.”

“I…” She looked away, shocked by his words and yet not unpleasantly. Beyond explanation, his words filled her with delight and her stomach flipped back and forth, “Thorin, that’s very nice of you but…”

“But what?” He took her hand gently and made her turn to him, her eyes reluctantly meeting his, “I am not lying. I have no reason too. You know how blunt I can be.”

“But I am…”

“An elf? I do not care. I shouldn’t have ever cared,” He squeezed her hand, “I should have known the moment I met you. Tell me, Olynna, could you not see how I’ve been trying? To make up all my sins against you? To atone for all the hatred I sent your way?”

She looked down at her feet, unwilling to believe such fanciful words.

“I have been though, desperately,” He reached up and touched her chin so that she looked at him, “And I am desperately enraptured by you. I cannot lie to myself or you anymore.”

She could not bring herself to speak and her silence urged him on.

“You don’t have to feel the same, you haven’t much reason to,” He explained with a sad smile, “I only wanted you to know…before you…go away.”

Suddenly his hand dropped and he released her, turning away to hide his sudden emotion. His shoulders slumped as he kept his back to her, searching over the side of the outlook for solace.

“Thorin,” He did not hear her footsteps as she neared and almost jumped at the touch of her fingers on his shoulder. He turned back to her, looking up with swimming eyes, “You did not even give me the chance to respond. It’s so like you to be so impatient.”

“Olynna?” His voice was broken as his eyes searched her.

“I don’t want to leave the Mountain,” She leaned down slightly so that they were close to level, “But most of all, I don’t want to leave you. Fool of an elf that I am, I wandered all these years only to end up here, with my heart beholden to you.”

“You…” His voice cracked and he tried to hide his surprise, his blue eyes falling away shyly.

“Thorin,” She bent down further and her long fingers came up under his chin to lift it up. His blue eyes met her jade ones and she delicately traced the line of his jaw and cheekbone, admiring the coarseness of his dwarven features. “I’ve never known you to be so afraid.”

Olynna pressed her lips lightly to Thorin’s as her own nerves kept her meek. His thick hand settled on her arm and he pulled her closer, deepening their kiss as the realization of their contact dawned. He held onto her so tightly it seemed he feared she would float away and she let herself soften in his embrace.

As they kissed, a cold wind blew up and enwrapped them though they could not feel the chill. Olynna’s mind flowed with memories of the Shire, Rivendell, the caves, and Mirkwood, the battle, and Ered Luin; all that had led her to Erebor.

All that had brought her home.


End file.
